I was curled into myself
(fish that I was) in my dream.

I couldn’t breathe any louder,
nostrils stuffed with gadgets.

The robots infested my city with
their cold, ferruginous predictions. 

Punctuated by apprehension about our futures,
we were mechanized like windup toys. 

Cracks vined my stiff legs as my neighbor
became muscular with the robots.

They hurt him accidentally.
My thoughts were slow

compared to the robots,
who would live forever stridently. 

I married myself.
I was anatomical, spinning to exhaustion.

My wounds sprouted unsteadily. 
I was superfluous, catatonic. 

Metal rectangles crisscrossed streets,
crushing cars into fists of color.

I kept an eye on things.
I caterwauled, (which was ignored.)
 
I wriggled between, caught one in a net,
gorged on its reinvention.

I began talking to my kitchen appliances. 
I woke up.  Noise and movement

were annoying but then they turned me
around so I could see the light.